


Jig

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Ficlet, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:38:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Tom ducks out and into Harry.





	Jig

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The music blasting overhead is shockingly close to real _music_ , a pleasant surprise after the week’s early debacle on Mrennenimus IV. It seems Mrennenimus Prime is more human than its surrounding planets, and Tom’s grateful for it—the buzz in his ears is just loud, not painful. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of the hosts. The circular parliament building is packed full of people, sandwiched much too close together for Tom to have a clean get away.

He still tries his best. Tom Paris isn’t an easy man to catch, despite all evidence to the contrary. He squeezes past the Minister of Table-Hockey and the Duchess of Finance, then ducks around two of his own crewmates, both too caught up in conversation to help him. He spares one look over his shoulder and finds his pursuer uncomfortably close. Her toothy grin lights up when their eyes meet, and her green irises flare fuchsia. Tom picks up the pace.

In all his life, he never thought he’d actually be walking _away_ from a willing woman, alien or not. But that was before he met the carnivorous residents of Mrennenimus Prime, who seem to take things a little far, even for him. It isn’t just that she’s got seven wandering fingers on each of her four inquisitive hands—it’s the lewd promises she made to him at dinner, whispered into his ear while he weighed the pros and cons. She _is_ attractive. Her excitement was intoxicating. But then she dragged her sharp nails down the back of his hand and told him all about her collection of plasma whips, and that instantly killed everything. He would’ve gotten right up and left the table, if he thought it wouldn’t cause a diplomatic incident.

Now dinner’s over, the dancing’s on, and Tom plans to get far away from his admirer’s gaze by the time the ceremonial clam toss begins. 

With a bit of effort, Tom manages to make his way down into the dance floor, which is ever so slightly concave and unhelpfully difficult to keep his footing on. He presses forward anyway. Most of the dancers are locals, but a few of his own people are scattered around—Captain Janeway, for instance, seems to be showing Seven something of a two-step. Seven has eyes more for her captain’s face than feet, and Tom can’t bring himself to bother them. He looks for someone else instead, but their landing party was relatively small, and the only person that Tom can see close enough and not partnered up is Tuvok. Somehow, Tom doesn’t think that’ll be much of a help.

Harry, however, is on his way from one taupe-coloured Mrennenimian to another, and it’s the perfect opportunity to squeeze between. Tom delivers himself right into Harry’s hands, cutting off an instantly indignant woman with her arms outstretched towards him. Tom gives her a quick, “Sorry, mind if I slip in?” And before she can answer, he’s tugged Harry away and stepped up close enough that they might as well have their belts attached. Harry gives him a bewildered look but doesn’t step away.

It isn’t a perfect plan, but it’s something, and Harry doesn’t bolt like anyone else might. Tom slips one arm around Harry’s trim waist, the other finding Harry’s hand, and he lifts it like they used to do in old Earth movies. When he takes a step to the left, Harry follows, and then he’s moving right again, sweeping Harry right up with him. They both managed to forgo dress uniforms, and the usual Starfleet red-and-blacks look a little out of place with the formal movement, but that’s the least of Tom’s concerns. He keeps his eyes squarely on Harry’s face, refusing to acknowledge anyone else around them, and hopes that saves him. Harry meets his gaze head on, brow cutely furrowed in confusion. But Harry’s face is always _cute_ , like the rest of him, and he’s an easy dance partner to fall into.

They only make it through a few more steps, wherein Tom smiles reassuringly and Harry awkwardly mirrors it, before both their arms are tapped. Tom looks over but doesn’t relinquish his grip in the slightest.

The same eager woman from dinner stares them down. She asks Tom with a mouth full of disconcertingly sharp teeth, “How about a dance, sugarmouse?”

Tom has no idea what a ‘sugarmouse’ is but has already decided he doesn’t want to be one. Harry’s eyes go a little wide, but he’s seen enough of the universe now to not overreact. He just waits quietly for Tom to explain.

He does. He fakes a dramatic, wistful sigh, and tells their guest, “Oh, I’m sorry, but I really can’t—my boyfriend gets much too possessive.” He even pats Harry’s should for good measure, while Harry balks and gives him a look like he’s _crazy_. Tom keeps his apologetic smile plastered on. When Harry splutters, Tom even turns to him and assures him, “Sh, don’t worry—I’m not going anywhere, love.” And he forces the love through on his face, because no one ever said Tom Paris couldn’t act. It’s not even that hard. Harry _is_ the closest person to him now. Even through Harry’s shock, he knows Harry will have his back. Harry always does. Harry fits right in his arms, and Tom pleads with his eyes for Harry to acknowledge that.

Harry conspicuously clears his throat, then awkwardly smiles. He says, “Great.” Then he even turns to the alien, informing her, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t like sharing him.”

The woman looks visibly taken aback. For a minute, Tom worries that she’s going to lash out, that he’s inadvertently put Harry in harm’s way—maybe he should’ve found B’Elanna; _she_ could handle this woman with ease. But Harry’s the one he’s already dancing with, and he tights his grip on Harry’s body, fully ready to spin them around and throw himself in the way should the alien go after Harry.

He doesn’t have to. The alien simmers down a second later and grunts, “I understand.” With a heated look at Tom, she growls, “I wouldn’t let that kind of man-meat go either. ...But then, neither would I let him out in public without a ring of my teethmarks around his neck.” Her wicked grin says that she isn’t speaking in metaphors. Tom almost gulps.

But Harry tells her faux-calmly, “I’ll correct that when we get back to our ship.”

She nods like she approves. Tom gives a look both surprised and impressed. With a lopsided sort of salute—the Mrennenimian equivalent of a nod—the alien turns and wades off. Tom watches her just long enough to see her spot Tuvok. Fortunately, they already ascertained on Mrennenimus IV that the Vulcan neck-pinch works on the locals. 

With that, Tom probably could leave. Instead he picks up the next dance with Harry, even leaning closer to say over the music, “Thank you.”

Harry chuckles, stepping right along with the growing beat. He’s not a bad dancer. He says, “You owe me big-time.”

Tom laughs, “You don’t know the half of it,” and enjoys their dance.


End file.
